A Springer from Baker street
by Shandy789
Summary: The Doc goes missing in 1890's London. Meanwhile, back in 1985, Sherlock Holmes makes the leap from Fiction to Non-Fiction.
1. Default Chapter

**A Springer from Baker Street**

Your perception of life changes with your experiences. You can be in the same place, wearing the same clothes with the same people around you, but it can seem like a completely different place, different clothes and different people, depending on your past.

In a reality, Marty McFly was only sitting in this English class, in the same seat, 2 days ago. But in another reality, he had been absent for 2 weeks, but in an even further reality, and perhaps more accurately, he had been separated from this classroom for a century.

Time travel had gone further however, and changed, not only Marty's position in time, but also, his position on life. He had grown up in that 2 day, 2 week, and 100 year period.

And now he sat in the same chair, wearing the same denim jacket and surrounded by the same students- Janice was in the seat next to him and Jesse in the seat to the right of him. But he was nothing like the boy who began the journey only 2 days ago. He was more confident, decisive, and most importantly, he no longer cared what people thought of him.

Yes, that adventure through time, with the Doc, could have taught him alot about history and mankind's journey, but instead, it taught him about himself, and allowed him to put the lesson into practice by standing up to his demons, and changed him into a man.

Marty pondered his new life as he paid no attention to the English lesson that was in progress, but instead, daydreamed out the classroom window.

His thoughts watched the falling leaves, the rustling grass, the odd car they drove past on the road in the distance but his eyes started catching up to his thoughts, and forced them to cease as he became aware that he was watching a girl. A lady. She was walking towards the school. At first she was apart of the scenery, until Marty's mind made him notice her old fashioned clothes.

"Clara", Marty thought. As the name echoed in his mind it was deafened by the sound of the school bell, it was the end of class, and the school day.

Marty grabbed his books and back pack and hurried out of the room, down the corridor and out the exit door.

He looked around to where he spotted Clara only moments ago. Again, all he could see now was the falling leaves, the rustling lawn and the odd car on a distant road.

"Marty?" a voice came from behind him; Marty tuned around and looked into the eyes of Clara Clayton. He had pictured her just a few minutes ago being 100 years in the past, but now she was so close to him.

"Clara! Ma'am. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, well, Jules and Verne wanted some fresh air and this grassy area behind the school looked so fresh and intouch with nature . . ." Clara awkwardly explained.

"Waitwaitwait. Fresh air? You come from a pollution free paradise. Where's the Doc?" Marty's eyes scoped around, trying to find Doc, or maybe even that huge locomotive.

But before he could rule out all 180 degrees, Clara threw herself on the teenager.

"Oh Marty. Emmett is the reason I have come. The fresh air whooper was, well, a whooper." Marty felt a tear slide down Clara's round face.

"Uh, it's ok. Has something happened to the Doc?" She didn't answer in words, only nodded her head slightly, it was all she could manage to prevent more tears.

"Let's sit down on this bench over here, and you can tell me about it." Marty lead her to the nearby wooden bench, the two sat down, Marty kept is arm around her.

"Oh Marty, I didn't know where else to turn." Clara had taken out a handkerchief and was drying her face.

"Uh no no, you did the right thing by coming here. Tell me what's happened to the Doc, and I'll see if I can help."

Marty waited for Clara to compose herself, not just her appearance, but her voice,

"3 months ago, well, 90 years ago, Emmett disappeared."

"Disappeared? What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . one day, he didn't come home from work. Days turned into weeks, then months and now here I am, almost a century later."

"Did the Doc have any enemies? Did you talk to people in town, and ask if anyone saw him?" Marty wasn't trying to interrogate, but he was worried about his old friend.

"Of course, I found out he had been seen with a man in the saloon, an English writer. This writer had been staying at the saloon, but he had left the night of Emmett's disappearance. They say he was going to return to Great Britain."

"Do you think this writer did something to Doc?" asked Marty, coming to terms with the situation.

"I . . . don't know. But he was the only new element in Emmett's routine day. I thought if I came into the future, I could find out about the writer, and maybe even what happened to Emmett. Do you have a library?"

"Yes, But, wait a minute, Ma'am, you have a time machine. You could just go back and . . ."

"Emmett is constantly warning the children and me about paradox. I am so scared to mess up history, I thought it would be safer to come to the future first, find out exactly what happened to him, and then go back and stop it."

"Good thinking, c'mon, I'll take you to the Library." Clara smiled as Marty helped her up from the bench.

Hill Valley Library had changed very little since Marty was there last; this was surprising since he hadn't been inside for 30 years.

Marty was hopping to see Jennifer, his girlfriend, working at the library, since she had a part time job there, but apparently she was off this afternoon.

Marty's memory went back to Doc and himself, shuffling through documents, trying to find the cause of Doc's death in 1885. Now he was shuffling through documents with Clara, trying to find the reason for Doc's disappearance. This time, however, they were looking for an English writer that had visited California in 1895. His name was 'Doyle', and they were going through lists of authors.

"What was Doyle's full name, Clara?"

Clara had suggested Marty address her by her Christian name, Marty was giving it a test drive, so to speak.

"I have it here, I wrote it down," she thumbled through her purse, trying to find it.

Marty held back a giggle as he noticed that women have been having trouble finding things in their purses for 100 years, possibly longer.

Jules and Verne were also looking around the library. Their search was confined to the biography section. Suddenly, Jules hurriedly approached Marty and Clara with a book.

"Mother, I found him! I found Doyle." Jules said, excited, he held the Sherlock Holmes story up for inspection. It was written by Arthur Conan Doyle.

Clara glanced at the book, and then resumed the search through her purse,

"We said to look in the Non-Fiction section, Jules."

Marty was surprised, he grabbed Jules before he could turn around and take the book back,

"Wait a minute, Sherlock Holmes is Non-Fiction."

"I beg your pardon, Marty?" Now the book had Clara's attention.

"Sherlock Holmes was a real person. Arthur Conan Doyle was his biographer."

Clara pulled the writer's name out of her purse, and read it slowly, "Dr. Arthur Doyle."

Marty smiled, "Then we've found him, the biographer of Sherlock Holmes is the man who last saw the Doc."

"Marty, where I come from, we all know Sherlock Holmes is make believe."

"What?" Marty couldn't understand Clara's attitude.

Jules pointed to the picture of Sherlock Holmes on the cover, "Sherlock looks like father."

Clara paused for a moment and then dropped to her knees to be level with the book, "You're right, Jules. He does. I think I'm starting to understand what has happened."

"What has happened?" Marty asked.

"Somehow, Emmett has gone to London with Doyle, and instead of Doyle writing about a fictitious character, he now, in this altered future, based the greatest detective on my Emmett!"

Marty tried to make sense of the predicament, "So, Sherlock Holmes use to be fake, but the writer met Doc, took him back to England and made Doc into the fictitious character?"

"That is what I'm suggesting, oh no!" Clara looked up from reading the Holmes book.

"What?"

"Sherlock Holmes fell off a waterfall and died in 1901. Poor Emmett."

"Don't worry Clara, we're going to go back and rescue him. You said Doc disappeared in 1895?"

"Correct. January the 5th."

"And what is the next Sherlock Holmes story after January the 5th?"

Clara checks the contents page, "The case of the midnight Shadow is dated April 25th, 1895."

As soon as they had the date, Marty and the Brown family rushed out of the library with alot more information on Doc's whereabouts then they had when they entered.

Clara showed Marty where she had secretly landed the Time Train. Deep into the woods they hiked, until they came to a clearing where the wonderfully built Time Machine was parked. They climbed on board and before Marty knew it he was flying up high above the clouds.

"Marty, take a seat" Clara warned.

"I'm fine, I'm just enjoying the vieeeewwaahhh," Marty was swept back into a seat by a sudden acceleration in speed. Sonic booms filled his ears and the next thing he knew the read-out on the old fashioned time display had changed. The current time was April 25th, 1895.

The train had not ceased its acceleration however. Marty assumed that since London was their destination, they had to keep up the speed to make it there by a decent time.

"We are now flying over the Atlantic Ocean," Clara declared.

"Atlantic ocean? Already? How fast are we going?" Marty asked eagerly.

"Um, I'm not too familiar with your measurements of speed but . ." Clara was interrupted by Verne,

"We're going really fast!!"

Marty laughed, "Great."

And sure enough, an hour later they were landing the train down in a forest, just out side of London. Marty was impressed with how well Clara operated the Train.

Leaving Jules and Verne behind, since the dark, fog filled 19th century London streets would have been no place for youngsters whose names weren't Oliver, Marty and Clara walked into the city.

As they came in contact with the locals, Marty realized that Clara's clothing was perfect, but his denim look was attracting some gazes.

The cobble streets looked nice, but they were hard to walk on, it was a constant battle not to trip over. Marty could understand the amount of horses in undeveloped 1885 Hill Valley, but London was a huge city, the horses seemed somewhat out of place to him.

"So where is Sherlock Holmes meant to live?" Marty asked.

"221B Baker Street," Clara read from the book.

"I'll ask for directions," Marty stopped a young lady with the wave of his hand, "Excuse me, ma'am, I was wondering if you could tell us the way to Baker Street?"

"Sorry, I don't give out information to men who don't introduce themselves first," the lady explained.

"Oh, I'm Marty, this is Clara," Marty polity said, he knew customs there would be different.

"Nice to meet you Marty," she grabbed his hand and shook it, "My name is Kath, are you Australian? I can tell by your accent, I have a pen pal in Australia. Your Koalas get drunk off eucalyptus . . ."

"Actually, we just want to know where Baker street is," Marty hated cutting her off, but he needed to find the Doc.

"Oh, I don't know. Cheerio," Kath then walked inbetween Marty and Clara and brushed past them. Marty shook his head, not knowing weather Kath had known the whereabouts of Baker Street, or was upset about being interrupted.

The latter was quite obvious when he heard Kath mutter, "Bloody Australians!"

Clara looked down the street, "I think I can see a street sign up ahead, we should . . . ."

A ruff looking, old sailor type man, with a navy blue cap on, and with a distinct aura of bourbon around him, stood in Clara and Marty's path.

"Excuse me Lady and gentlemans, you should know better then to be walkings arounds Whitechapel at night," he spoke with a cockney tone.

"Ah, we're fine thanks," Marty tried to walk around him, but he was pushed back, the street man then grasped his hand around Clara's pearl necklace.

"My oh, my oh, my oh, oh, what a shiny pearls."

Clara looked at Marty for help; Marty didn't fail to deliver and grabbed ahold of the hoodlum's arm. Marty was flung off and fell against a brick wall.

"Stop in the name of the law!" A deep, strong voice yelled from down the road.

"You keep the necklace, lady, I've gots enough problems with the law," the man said as he darted away.

The mysterious voice became a mysterious shadow that walked towards Clara in the moon illuminated fog. As he came closer, the shadows evaporated into the gas lit street lights, and Doctor Emmett L Brown's face emerged. His head housed a deer stalker's cap.

"Oh Emmett, I knew it had to be you," Clara declared with speech of relief.

"Are you quite alright, madam?" The Doc asked, with a peculiar English upper class accent.

Marty stood and gave a sigh of relief at the sight of his friend, "Doc. We . . ."

Doc cut him short with a wave of his hand, "Just a minute, Don't say a word, not a word now. My deductive reasoning will tell me more about the pair of you then your words ever could." Doc started to study the two.

"Emmett, what's wrong?" Clara started to notice the change in her husband.

"Madam, you are American, who currently lives in the west, you are a school teacher, you are the owner of a dog and you are married." Doc concluded.

"Emmett, of course I am, I'm married to you."

Doc seemingly ignores her and moves his attention to Marty.

"You are also American, you're in your late teenage years, and you make your own clothes." Doc said bluntly.

"What?" Marty looked at Clara for a moment with confusion.

"Well, I have never seen anything like your clothes before; I therefore deduce that you use your own material."

A short, heavy set man then came hurrying up behind the Doc.

"Holmes! Holmes! Why did you run over here?" asked the distinguished man with a moustache.

"Ah, Doyle, allow me to introduce you to two Americans. I heard a robbery taking place, so I arrived here to prevent it," the Doc explained.

"You're Arthur Conan Doyle, aren't you?" Clara spotted the man straight away.

"Well, yes, I'm Sherlock Holmes' colleague and biographer; did you say you were American?" Doyle's eyes squinted as his mind turned.

Marty stepped forward, "Listen Pal, what have you done to the Doc? First you kidnap him from California, and now you have him pretending to be Sherlock Holmes?"

"Holmes, I think we should leave," Doyle said as he turned around.

"Yes, Doyle, I quite agree," Doc started to follow Doyle away.

"Emmett, wait! You can't tell me you don't know who I am!" Clara desperately said, hoping it was all a joke.

"Young lady, my practice extends to the Continent; I have not had the good fortune to visit North America. Good night." The Doc turned and walked away.

"Emmett, come back, we can prove we know you." Clara almost cried the words. Marty comforted her.

"It's no use Clara, that Doyle guy has brainwashed the Doc or something."

"What are we going to do? Should we go back to Hill Valley and stop Doyle from kidnapping Emmett?"

"I guess so . . . wait a minute, have you got that Sherlock Holmes book?" Marty asked.

Clara nodded and handed the book to him.

Marty opened it, read a few of the early pages then spat out a laugh and closed the book with a dramatic clap, "I've got it!"

As Marty and Clara walked out of London town and back to the hidden Train, Marty explained that he had skipped through the first chapter and found that Sherlock Holmes would receive an anomalous letter, telling him to go to the docks under London Bridge. Holmes would go there, but it would be a wild goose chase, no one would show up. Marty then explained his plan.

It was close to midnight. Sherlock Holmes walked onto the peer's woodplanks over the murky, foggy Themes River.

He looked up at the Great London Bridge with pride in his country. He never thought about his past much, he wondered if the deduction of crime had always intrigued him. Then his thoughts shuffled to the two Americans he met earlier that night.

"Emmett", "Doc", these titles they addressed him with seemed to come from a time before his interest in mysteries became prevalent. He thought of the beautiful woman, he knew she was American due to her accent, he knew she had been in the American west recently, due to the orange dirt on her boots, he knew she was the owner of a dog because the fur of a white sheepdog that was plainly visible on the bottom of her dress, he knew she was married due to her wedding ring and after all, a beautiful, sensible lady her age would have to have had a trip down the isle. And Holmes had deduced she was a school teacher because, because,

how did he know?

Holmes struggled to remember what piece of evidence had lead him to the blatant conclusion that she had been a school teacher. There was nothing. He had just known.

Holmes considered the possibility that he had evolved to the point of reading minds, but these thoughts were blown away with the breeze of a huge locomotive, rocketing down the river themes. Holmes could not believe his eyes, yet his eyes never lied to him.

The Train hovered under the bridge and then turned, like some huge dragon, and directed its course towards the wharf Holmes was standing on.

Holmes wanted to run, but his curiosity had always been his Ackley's heal.

The flying machine drew closer towards him; he then heard a voice coming from behind him, "Sorry about this Doc." The voice was then followed by an enormous thud to his head and then darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Holmes' mind seemed to start up again, like a dormant candle being relit, he didn't know if it was a conscious decision that his 5 senses begin one at a time.

First his sense of taste came back to him; this helped little in determining what had happened to him so he quickly moved on to the next sense. He felt he was lying down, on an extremely soft bed, or lounge.

His smell began working next, he could smell dust; he was in an untidy place. He could smell perfume; the American lady was no doubt there.

He then started listening, he could hear traffic outside. Traffic, he knew what the sounds were.

Cars, they were cars, but he struggled to remember how he knew. He also heard the two Americans talking.

"I think he's waking up," said the woman.

Holmes had concluded all he could from his four senses, and opened his eyes with a frustrating expression.

"My dear colonial friends, may I ask why I have been kidnapped?"

"Oh Emmett!" Clara collapsed to her knees and hugged her husband.

"My dear, why do you insist on calling me that name? I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street."

"No you're not Doc. You are Doctor Emmett Brown, and you are in the year 1985." Marty stated.

The sound of the traffic was driving Holmes mad, they were a constant reminder that something in this environment wasn't right, and now he had this strange declaration that he was in the future. He couldn't take it any longer, Holmes jumped up and shot to the window and swung open the blinds.

To his surprise and horror, he was right. The beeping, engine noises were from motor cars, just as he pictured.

"Great Scott," these words caused a smile on Marty and Clara's faces, they were making some progress.

"Everything you have told me is right. I'm not Sherlock Holmes; I'm a Doctor in the future. How has this happened?"

"Emmett, what is your earliest memory?" Clara walked up to Doc, and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I . . . I, never thought about it." Doc struggled to remember "Doyle!" he exclaimed, "I remember meeting Doyle in a bar."

"Yes!" Clara was delighted, "You met him in a saloon here in Hill Valley. Do you remember how you traveled to London?"

"I was an idiot!" Doc angrily realized.

"What happened, Doc?" Marty stepped forward, seeing that his memory was flowing back.

"Some how our conversation moved to crime detection, and I foolishly started talking about Sherlock Holmes, I didn't realize Doyle was the author."

"So Doyle was interested in Sherlock Holmes?" asked Marty.

"Oh yes, after all, it was his creation. I guess he must have put something in my milk, because I can't remember much after that. Only glimpses of memories being hypnotized on a boat. I then thought I was Sherlock Holmes, but it's all fading away so fast now." Doc took a step back and sat down on a chair.

Marty glanced at his watch, "Oh, I better be getting home, now that you're feeling better, Doc. I'll stop by tomorrow after school." Marty headed for the door.

"Thanks for all your help, Marty. I knew I could depend on you," Clara smiled as she sat down next to Doc.

"My pleasure."

"Yes, thankyou, Marty," Doc looked up and forced a smile, but his mind was still contemplating the falseness of his memories.

Marty smiled back, "Bye." He left Doc's 1985 home which bore small resemblance to his 1955 garage.

Marty settled back into his normal life again, he found himself in that English class again and again and again, and soon it was as if his time travel adventure was far behind him.

The Doc was making alot of progress also; Marty popped in every now and then and was delighted to see he was getting back to his usual self.

Marty hopped it would be some time yet before Doc would regain his full memory, after all, Marty was enjoying stopping by his home just like old times.

Marty then found himself after a long day of school, sitting on a bench in the town square with Jennifer Parker.

"Jen, I'm just worried that I'm never going to see him again," he told her about his fear.

"The Doc will be back, this is his home too," Jennifer tried to relieve Marty.

"Yeah, you're right," Marty was then distracted by something shining, he looked and saw it was a police siren light. Marty stood to get a better view of two police cars parked on the sidewalk. Officers moved out of the petrol cars and walked down the alley way.

"What's going on over there?" Marty walked over, Jennifer followed close behind. As they arrived at the scene, a policeman was tapping off the area with yellow crime scene tape.

"Keep back kids," said the deep voiced officer.

"What's going on?" asked Jennifer, straining her neck to see down the alley.

"There's been another murder," the big cop said just before he turned and walked slowly down the alley.

"Another murder? Has there been a murder?" Marty asked confused.

"Yeah, it was on the news last night, a girl was killed while waiting at the train station early yesterday morning."

"Whoa, so it's a serial killer?"

"Yeah, a weirdo. A witness saw the killer leaping away from the station," Jennifer recounted.

"Leaping?" Marty almost laughed, if it wasn't for the seriousness of the crime.

"The old man said he saw this guy 'leaping away', he sprang over the railway track and over a building."

This time Marty couldn't hold back the giggle, "when Superman starts killing people, all hope is lost."

Jennifer softly slaps his arm, "Marty, it's not funny. The killer didn't fly away, he jumped, as if he had springs on his feet."

"Sounds just like Spring-Heeled Jack," Marty noticed.

"Spring heeled who?"

"Spring-Heeled Jack. You know, he was a serial killer back in the olden days, he jumped over buildings and he spat fire,"

Marty tried to make her recall.

"You mean Jack the Ripper?" Jennifer said, slightly repulsed.

"No, Spring Heeled Jack was almost a superhero, if it wasn't for all the evil."

"A superhero?" Jennifer curiously asked.

"Well, yeah, he could jump really high, he breathed fire and . . ." Marty was interrupted.

"Fire. Marty," she paused to swallow, "the girl at the train station was burnt to death."

Marty and Jennifer both looked as they noticed smoke slowly escaping into the clean air above the alley.


	3. The Third Chapter

Marty returned home, had dinner with the family, and then retired to his room. He laid down on his bed, tired and ready for sleep, but somehow he couldn't put the serial killer out of his mind.

He had watched the evening news, and sure enough the woman down the alley had been burnt to death.

Marty caught sight of a book of Urban legends that he had among the books and magazines on his shelf above his bed.

Marty grabbed the paperback, remembering there was a chapter on Spring-heeled Jack. He flipped past the werewolf section, thinking how silly that particular myth was- he briefly thought of himself as a werewolf, it would be a blessing, making him better at sports like Basketball- sports that he had suffered at because of his height.

He then slipped past the 'Hook in the teen's car door handle' legend, he breezed past the Vampires and he shot through the "Killer in the backseat" only to come to blank pages.

"Blank pages?" Marty asked himself. There were five blank pages inbetween the "killer in the backseat" chapter and the "Aliens" section.

Marty could have sworn that the Spring-heeled Jack part used to be where the white pages now existed. The page numbers were still on all five pages, but nothing else, only blank.

After that strange discovery, Marty had trouble getting to sleep. Just before he slipped away into his dream, he made the decision to go to the Library the next day, and find out what happened to Jack.

Jennifer could help him out; he knew she worked their tomorrow after school.

Little did Marty know he was off by one day.

Jennifer had worked her part-time job at Hill Valley Library that day. She was closing up that very moment.

Her friend Kim, who worked with her, had already left. So she was by herself.

Jen's dad hadn't forced her to get a job, but he did insist heavily. She was happy she found the Liberian job; Mrs. Simons had taken her under her wing and made her job a happy one. Jennifer had slowly taken on more and more roles and now she was left with the responsibility of closing up.

The last customers were a high school student and an old man, they left right before 10. Jen hoped they would have left earlier so she could shut up early, being out that late with a killer on the loose was not her idea of a good time.

She even made her friend Kim promise to ring her later that night so she could be sure she got home alright.

Kim, not being frightened of anything, laughingly had agreed.

Jen returned a few last books to their shelves, turned off the lights and changed the 'open' sign hanger on the front door to 'closed'.

She took a good look outside first before stepping out into the dark night and locking the door behind her.

She took another glance around, it was quick, fearing she was acting too paranoid, and then started her usually routine journey around to the parking lot at the rear of the library building.

She didn't make it to the end of the front wall before she heard them.

Foot steps.

Jen stopped dead in her tracks, the footsteps also stopped; they were clearly behind her,

"hopefully not too close" the thought raced through her mind.

She began walking again, and sure enough the echoey, heavy footsteps sounded as well.

The thought of running crossed her mind, but she couldn't find the courage. So she simply stopped and clenched her fits up to her mouth in terror.

But this time, the footsteps didn't come to a sudden stop, they infact intensified, almost to running pace, she then heard them jump off the library steps and then heard rustling in the bushes. Whoever it was had leaped into the bushes.

She then realized that the rustling bushes were still sounding, HE was approaching her.

Jen then had enough fear to get her moving, she took off like an Olympic marathon runner, but without the precision, Jen was far from running in a straight line, she darted in and out of the cement pillars that decorated the side of the library.

Jen run for all she was worth. She made it to the parking lot just in time to hear the laughter, echoing back from the front of the building.

She turned around and looked up as she heard a noise on the library's roof. It was him.

He was hopping on the roof like a jockey without a horse.

And laughing, a deep, murky, evil, chuckle.

Jennifer couldn't take her eyes off him, she thumbled for her car keys in her handbag.

He ran out of room by bouncing to the edge of the roof. The laughter stopped and he stared down, right at Jennifer. Then, he dropped.

He simply stepped off the 30 foot building and plummeted to the parking lot below. He landed and bounced a few times before coming to a stop.

Jennifer was frozen in horror. The jumping man then began the short walk towards Jen.


	4. Chapter Four, better lock the Door

The man even got half way towards Jen before a station wagon pulled violently into the carpark, its high beam headlights flooded the killer. He hissed, squatted then took off into the air, landing on a neighboring roof, and then he was gone.

"Jennifer!" A voice cried from the brown station wagon. Mr. Parker flipped the door opened and jumped out, he bolted over to his daughter and threw his arms around her; she hugged tightly back.

"Are you ok sweetheart?"

"Yeah Daddy, now that you're here. It was the killer!" Jennifer said teary eyed.

"I know. I was worried about you, so I came to make sure you got to your car safely."

"Thanks Dad," she kissed his cheek.

Mr. Parker took his daughter to the Police Station, they filed a report, luckily it didn't take too long and before Jen knew it she was in her bed, calling Marty on the phone.

She told him about her terrifying encounter with the Hill Valley serial killer. Marty explained his fears that it might be Spring-Heeled Jack.

They planned to meet at the Doc's house tomorrow before school.

It was a sunny morning at Doc's house, as the morning cars drove by, on their way to work, and the Burger King next door opened for business.

The smell of fresh whoppers filled the morning air.

Clara welcomed Marty and Jennifer inside, and they found the Doc sitting at a table with a radio, listening to a news report.

The reporter stated, " . . and over night the Leaping Serial murderer was spotted at least 4 times, luckily, no one was injured this time, in other news, the Libyan T. . . "

Doc switched off the radio with a flick,

"Confound it! Why don't they note the similarities with Spring-heeled Jack?"

Marty was almost ecstatic that Doc had considered the similarities, "Doc, I know what you mean, look at this book."

Marty handed the Urban Legend book to Doc. Doc flipped through the book very curiously, he came to the blank pages,

"You have been ripped off. A whole chapter was skipped by the printer."

He tossed the book away, Marty kept the paperback in motion by picking it up and handed it back to him,

"no no Doc, this was the section that used to be about Spring-Heeled Jack."

Doc looked at the blank pages again and noticed the page numbers, "Great Scott!"

He stood and started pacing as he flipped through the empty pages,

"These pages have been erased. All trace of Spring-heeled Jack has gone, that's why the news doesn't mention the similarities. I need to think about this." The Doc sat back down and frowned his brow.

"Oh Marty, your cup of tea is ready," Clara beckoned from the kitchen.

Marty walked confusingly over to her, "I didn't want any teeaaa . . ." Suddenly he was dragged into the kitchen by Clara's strong hands, reminiscent of his fall in the time train.

"Shhhhh . . . I have to tell you something, Marty," Clara admitted.

"What is it?" Marty asked, looking back at the Doc, feeling this was bout him.

"Last night, I woke up just in time to see Emmett sneaking out the window. He was wearing his Sherlock Holmes jacket. I waited and waited for him to come back, he finally returned at midnight. I pretended to be asleep, I heard he was out of breath, he took off his jacket and went to sleep." Clara looked back at Doc and Jennifer to make sure she was out of hearing range. "Marty, when I heard this morning about the sightings of the killer, only one conclusion came to my mind. My Emmett is Spring-heeled Jack!"


	5. all over at 5

Marty and Jennifer couldn't stay too long; they had to go to school. But as soon as school was over, they were off to the library.

Unfortunately Mrs. Simons knew nothing about Spring-heeled Jack. And a search through the library's records failed to find anything as well.

Jennifer started chatting with her friend Kim about Kim's new clothes, Marty admitted they looked pretty on her but wasn't content for a girl talk session, so he continued with a final frustrating search, he walked past isles of books.

As he walked past the fiction isle, he noticed a strange sight.

Doc was standing down the end of the isle, searching the books, wearing his full Sherlock Holmes gear from 1895.

Marty was going to keep walking for a moment, but he thought he better confront Doc, and put his mind at rest.

"Doc, what are you doing here?" Marty walked down to his friend.

"Oh, it's you again. Why must you insist on referring to me as 'Doc'?"

"Umm . . what?" Marty was confused.

"If you have to address me my boy, Mr. Holmes would be preferable," Holmes frankly said, performing an excellent portrayal of Basil Rathbone.

"You still think you're Sherlock Holmes? Doc, we went over this, you're back in the year 1985!"

Mrs. Simons walked by the isle and gestured with her finger for the two to remain silent; after all, they were in a library.

"I know, and I know why I am here," Holmes smiled.

"You're not killing people are you? Clara saw you leave the house last night."

"Young fellow, my lad, I am not the suspect. I am in pursuer!"

Many ideas crossed Marty's mind, but he finally settled on Doc having a split personality, which might not be a bad thing, because now Sherlock Holmes was on the case of Spring-heeled Jack.

Holmes located the book he was searching for and yanked it out, "Uh Ha!"

"What, what did you find?" Marty excitedly asked.

"The identity of Spring heeled Jack!"

Holmes turned the book around and raised the cover for Marty to see. It was the same Sherlock Holmes book that Jules had found earlier in the week, but the picture of

Sherlock Holmes on the cover was blank, it had erased.

"You're the killer?" Marty tried to make sense of what he was looking at and what Doc was trying to suggest.

"No, no. Spring Heeled Jack no longer exists in history, and neither does Sherlock Holmes," Holmes flipped through the entirely blank book.

"So, we altered history someway when we were in the past?" Marty asked the great detective.

"In a way. Spring-heeled Jack stowed away on the time locomotive when we left 1895, that's why there is no sign of him in history." Holmes explained.

"Wow. But what about Sherlock Holmes, why weren't those books written?"

"Because Spring Heeled Jack is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!!"

Doyle looked out the high window and watched a homeless fellow's feet walk by.

He found it ironic that he had become most famous in the future for flying, but he lived down under the ground in a small room under the court house. He was very pleased with himself, following Doc Brown to the London Wharf, and then sneaking onboard that wonderful rocketing Locomotive, and then finding himself in this marvelous future where people are much more frightened then anyone was back in old London.

He thought of the library girl, he wished he had got a chance to touch her. A more beautiful victim, he would be hard pressed to find, maybe tonight he would be lucky and encounter her again. Jennifer. Her name was Jennifer, he heard the man call out. What a lovely name.

It could have been because Doyle was in deep thought, or perhaps it was because the clock tower was striking 11 p.m.

But either way, Sherlock Holmes managed to walk down the stairs to the small room, unnoticed. Unnoticed that is until he spoke.

"Hello Doyle."

Doyle spun around with such shock, "Doctor Brown! I should have known I'd see you again. I see you've kept the clothes I gave you."

"Yes, and I've deduced why you gave them to me. When we met in that saloon, you realized I strangely knew all about your very little known creation. Your Sherlock Holmes character was being described, so well to you, by an American. You drugged me, kidnapped me and even hypnotized me!"

Doyle chuckled, "It was surprisingly easy, you knew all about Sherlock, I just made you shift your scientific mind to a deductive mind."

"And you did all this to subtract attention from your night job as Jack," Holmes added.

"Yes, I was incontrol of the world's greatest detective. You would never have accused me of murder; I would have directed you to someone else. But little did I know your family would track you down from the future," Doyle rolled his eyes, almost asking forgiveness for not thinking of every possible element.

"And then you climbed on board the train and came here to 1985."

"Yes, a whole innocent community to prey upon. London was full of drunks, prostitutes and dirty workers. That may be good enough for Jack the Ripper, but Spring-heeled Jack should have some class. And I have found it here, in this colourful Utopia."

An evil smile filled Doyle's face.

"You should have stayed in London. Your crimes were never found out and you were knighted by the Queen," Holmes stepped closer.

"Ah, but I haven't been found out here either," Doyle stepped aloofly away and around Holmes.

"Ironic isn't it? I located you by the deductive instincts you taught me. I'm willing to return you to London and give you back to history," Holmes hoped this compromise would appeal to Doyle.

"Ah, but I haven't showed you how I leapt tall buildings in a single bound, or breathed fire on my victims."

Doyle opened a closet and took out a device that looked like a double pogo stick; he fitted the straps to his legs. And sure enough he had what looked like springs on the bottom of his boots.

"This spring apparatus was my second greatest invention. Sherlock Holmes was, of course, my first," Doyle gloated.

"And how did you burn your victims?" Holmes asked, curious until the end.

Doyle grabbed a stick from behind him, striked it on the wall and it shot up into flames, he then, seemingly, swallowed the flames on the stick.

"You've mastered fire-eating," Holmes realised.

Doyle did not answer; he simply grabbed another stick, striked it alight and blew the flames towards Holmes.

Holmes fell to the ground, hiding his face from the enormous heat that blew up to him.

He then stood back up to find Doyle gone.

Doc ran up the stairs and out of the court house, just in time to see Doyle leaping out of the town square and behind buildings and trees. Holmes headed back inside the court house and up the stairs to the roof of the clock tower.

He then waited a moment before he spotted the time train speeding towards him, the locomotive slowed down and hovered above the tower, Doc climbed on board with some help from Marty, and then they were off, flying in chase of the springing author.

They followed him over shops, under bridges and into backyards. They descended closer to Doyle.

"Clara, we're close enough, activate the magnetic plate!" Doc shouted as he kept his eyes on the leaping Doyle.

The round magnetic plate underneath the train's base, suddenly lite up with a blue glow.

Doyle raced across streets, but suddenly felt himself slowing down, and then going backwards! He was being pulled up towards the locomotive and there was nothing he could do.

A huge thud almost deafened him as he connected to the plate. He then felt the locomotive accelerate. He closed his eyes, hopping not to fall off.

Three sonic booms later, he found himself gliding through slightly colder sky; he knew where he was, back in London, home.

Doyle felt himself being lowered to the very same pier where he had began this time travel journey. Then suddenly the magnet lost its pull, and he fell to the wooden hardness of the wharf.

He stood up as quick as he could to show his protest, but all that accomplished was allowing him to see the locomotive shoot up into the air and disappear.

Doyle looked around, he no longer had the real Sherlock Holmes anymore, but he could still write about him, he thought.

And after all, Spring-Heeled Jack wouldn't be caught for another 90 years. He laughed with that realisation.

Marty once again found himself, back in school, back in English class and back in the same seat again. Doc and Clara had left 1985 the previous afternoon, bound for the 19th century. But this time he had a promise from Doc that he would return.

Doc's 'Sherlock Holmes' personality had vanished as soon as they left 1895. Mr. Holmes had served his purpose and was now back in the library books.

Marty was now glad to be back in the same English class room, sitting in the same chair. Janice once again sat to his left, painting her nails, and Jesse on his right, also painting his nails.

Everything was back to normal.

Stability in a world that is raging mad with characters such as Sherlock Holmes and Spring-Heeled jack is a very attractive thought indeed.

**THE END **


End file.
